Phases of the Moon

28 days old and she’s whole.

She appears.

Full.

Magical.

Dressed in satin black and diamonds.

The others are star stuck.

She lingers, strong.

She commands attention, she revels in song.

Floating high the whole night long.

Sliding her hands down the back of your neck,

and tilting your chin to the heavens.

Arresting gazes.

Waitless, she flits from eye to eye.

You bring her home with you,

take her to bed.

Treat her like the only bright thing in the sky.

Goodnight, moon, you whisper.

 

Another night.

He tells her he can’t help himself.

As he touches her where he wants.

Without asking.

Demands her skin for himself.

She doesn’t mind.

He’s got tattoos and a jawline that could cut moonstone.

But somewhere inside,

The part where she believes she belongs to herself,

Wanes.

Another night.

She knows the hands of men,

Are greedy.

They disrupt her skin.

And she’s already growing smaller.

She tells him to be respectful in her room.

Come gracefully into the house where moonbeams live.

He says back to her.

That makes him uncomfortable.

What has he done wrong?

Well, nothing,

yet.

So, it must be her.

What has she done wrong?

To have to say such a thing.

Who have you been foolish enough to let in your bed?

You have to pay attention.

To their energy.

He says.

She wanes.

 

Another night.

Another he.

This one grabs her at the door after he walks her home.

Her heart beats fast and she tries to push his hands out from under her dress.

“Shh, he tells her. Just a feel.”

“No,” she says and plants her hands against his chest.

And still he gets what he wanted.

Just a feel.

Don’t make me seem like the bad guy he messages her later.

He couldn’t help himself.

And smaller she grows still.

 

Another night.

She’s just a sliver of what she used to be.

Then you

You finally call her.

One night and you’re drunk.

She’s been waiting months.

You tell her you love her.

Tell her she never left you.

She was outside your window the whole time.

Goodnight, moon was the mantra.

She hates it and loves it at the same time.

Loves the words but hate when they came.

Not sober, nor apologetic.

 

And. Finally.

She’s gone.

Dark.

 

Shadow self tells her lies.

No one can see you.

No one is looking for you.

No one wants you.

But somewhere inside she holds light still.

She grows again,

Slowly.

Tends to herself each night.

Rubs her own love into her wounds.

Doesn’t turn away when the fire reflects on her face.

 

Another night.

Finally, she is whole again.

She’s hopeful.

But still she’s drawn to you,

the gravity of you keeps her.

She lets you block her light.

Even though she knows better.

And just like that.

She goes dark again.

But this time, only for a moment.

She understands something now.

This eclipse will not be permanent.

She whispers in your ear.

You’ve only ever seen one side of me.

The dark side is just another side of the light.

The shadow doesn’t fall far from the tree.

I am whole despite what you see.

And that depends wholly on from where you’re looking at me.

And as she stepped back into her place.

You saw the sun in her eyes.

Whole again and this time,

Free.

 

28 years old and I’m finally whole.